


Nothin' Shakin' (but the leaves on the trees)

by applescruffed



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: A little bit of angst, George POV, M/M, and paris sort of, its the aftermath of paris, john lennon/paul mccartney in liverpool, maybe some fluff, post Paris, probably no smut, so eavesdroppings and misunderstandings galore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25677451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applescruffed/pseuds/applescruffed
Summary: John and Paul return from Paris ready to reclaim their places in the best band in Liverpool, but something about them is different. George begins to wonder whats bothering them, and what it means for him and the band.George's POV on John and Paul post Paris.
Relationships: George Harrison & John Lennon & Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	Nothin' Shakin' (but the leaves on the trees)

**Author's Note:**

> Something a bit different today! Hopefully you enjoy it. I'm on tumblr as apple-scruffed.tumblr.com if you want to come and find me

George turned the corner of Forthlin road, pulling his jacket tighter to fend off the cold autumn breeze. Two weeks without the band had left him itching to get started again, a nervous excitement pushing him out the door early, his guitar strapped to his back as he made his way across Liverpool. Not that he hadn’t been practising, but it wasn’t the same alone. There was no thrill in playing a new riff if no one was there to admire it, and without the drive and ambition that came with John and Paul’s competitive natures he’d felt like a 14 year old again, sitting in his room learning songs he wasn’t sure he’d ever play.

Stu had thought it was over, was convinced John and Paul had run off to live the Bohemian life in Paris, playing bars and scrounging off Klaus in the city of light, but George had known they’d never do that. The band was finally getting somewhere, taking the shape he’d always imagined it would, drawing crowds in Liverpool and Hamburg alike. They were on the brink of something big and they all knew it, and even John’s whims wouldn’t derail them now. Being honest with himself, the cancelled gigs had annoyed him. It was money he wasn’t making, exposure they weren’t getting, and, unlike Paul, he hadn’t even benefitted from John’s windfall. The break had, however, left him time to reflect on his own life. He had thought back to his own hitchhiking trip with Paul, sleeping rough and pushing the boundaries of their teenage world. It seemed like a million years ago now, their lives reshaped again and again since John had arrived. Now John stood where George once had, but George didn’t mind. He’d made his peace with that years ago. They were both more than he could handle alone anyway.

Back in the failing afternoon light of Allerton, the only thing that mattered was that they were back, the band was back, and after a short delay their journey to the top could now be resumed. Turning into the gate of number 20, George rolled his shoulders back and looked at the upstairs window, wondering if Paul was in his bedroom. He knew he was early, but he hoped the extra time might give him a chance to chat with Paul’s dad. He’d missed the easy familiarity he enjoyed in the McCartney house, and the affection that came with knowing Jim approved of his presence in Paul’s life.

Stepping forward to knock, George nearly jumped out of his skin when the door flew open in front of him.

“Saw you through the window” Paul grinned, taking him by the shoulders and admiring him as if he hadn’t seen George in months.

“What have you done to your hair?!”

Paul laughed, turning back into the house. “Klaus did it. Everyone’s got it in Paris.” George followed him into the kitchen, enjoying the familiar scene as Paul filled the kettle and collected mugs from the cupboard.

“Well, it’s interesting…” George teased, making the most of the rare opportunity to take the piss out of Paul.

“Fuck off” Paul replied affectionately, dropping teabags into the empty mugs. An amicable silence fell over the kitchen, the two boys listening to the slowly boiling kettle resting on the hob.

“No one else in?”

“Dad’s at Aunty Gin’s. Mike’s out with his mates somewhere, left just before you got here.”

At that moment the doorbell rang, causing Paul to push forwards off the counter, his gaze fixing on the doorway into the hall for a second before he turned his attention to the cutlery draw, fishing out some teaspoons.

“He’s early” George observed, glancing over at the clock.

“So were you” Paul said dismissively. “Erm… can you get that please George? I’ll just do the teas”.

“Not like John to arrive less than half an hour late” George drawled as he made his way down the hall. He could see John’s silhouette standing on the doorstep, his outline fuzzy through the dimpled glass of the front door. George clicked the lock and swung the door open to greet him.

“Oh.” George watched John’s grin flicker for a second before he stepped inside, putting an arm round George’s shoulder. “Great to see you again George! Missed me?”

“How could I not” George deadpanned, rolling his eyes as he shrugged John’s hand off his shoulder. “Paul’s in the kitchen.”

“Hi John!” Paul leaned his head out of the door, smiling at the scene in the hall. “I’ll bring some tea in now.”

“Hi Paul” John said softly before moving into the living room and thudding down on the sofa.

“I can’t believe you’ve got that haircut too!” George laughed, sitting in the chair across from John.

“hmm, yeah” John said absentmindedly, running his hand through his hair and avoiding George’s gaze. Was John really feeling self-conscious about it? George almost never saw John like this.

“I think it looks great.” Both turned to see Paul standing in the doorway, a tray of mugs held up in front of him. “Tea?”

“Thanks” John grinned, collecting a mug off Paul’s tray as he settled down next to John on the sofa. His moment of vulnerability seemed so brief George wondered if he’d imagined it. “You’ll have it in no time, you know” John said, blowing cool air over the piping hot drink. “The hair, I mean. You know you always end up copying us.”

“You wish, John.”

“Nice leathers, by the way. Where’d you get the idea for them?”

George watched John share a conspiratorial look with Paul, a smirk spreading across both their lips. Great, they were in one of those moods.

“Pete coming round tonight?”

Paul pulled his eyes away from John, turning to face George. “Nah, didn’t ask him. You know what he’s like. We can play through the songs and the setlists without him, and organise a proper rehearsal at his place before the gigs start up again.”

“Might as well start setting up then.”

At that John slid his guitar out of its case, gazing expectantly at the others.

“So go on then, tell us about Paris!” George asked as he pulled his guitar onto his knee.

John fixed his gaze on Paul, as if he was as eager to hear Paul’s words as George was. Paul was looking down at his bass, settling it in his lap before he replied. “It was good” he said simply. Then Paul was looking into John’s eyes, and John nodded encouragingly, smiling back at him. “Really good” he said slowly. As if being snapped out of a daze, Paul turned back towards George, clearing his throat awkwardly. “The journey there was alright, not as bad as it could’ve been. And the city was gorgeous. Never seen anything like it George, the buildings, the river- ”

“Even the crap old room we were staying in” John added jovially. “And we met up with Klaus. He had a girl there, but I think we got him dumped.”

Paul snorted at this, looking over at John and shaking his head. “He’s not even exaggerating, one look at us and she was gone”

“Never to be seen again.” The two began laughing giddily, looking over at George who was listening eagerly.

“So what about you then? Did you get any girls? What were they like over there?”

John scoffed, shaking his head.

“That bad?”

“No, they were gorgeous. Didn’t want anything to do with us though!”

“Not that we didn’t try though” Paul added. “We even went and bought these massive jeans all the lads were wearing – ”

“It was like wearing a skirt George”

“So I cut them up and turned them into drainies” Paul laughed.

“Seamstress McCartney here comes in useful sometimes” John teased, receiving a solid shove from Paul in return.

“Next time you can sew your own, see how far that gets you.”

George laughed, remembering how much he’d missed messing around with them like this. “So the beauties of the south bank were a non-starter then?”

“Yeah, but we managed” John said with a wink, causing Paul to splutter over a sip of tea.

“That’s where the hair came in, obviously” Paul joked, although George noticed his posture had stiffened. The three of them let their eyes fall to their instruments as they began tuning them, trading chords and notes back and forth.

“Want to hear what I’ve been up to while you two fucked off to France then?”

“I’m sure you’ll show us either way” John drawled, pulling a laugh out of Paul. George smiled and launched into _Nothin' Shakin',_ speeding through the song and ending with a flourish before looking up expectantly at the other two.

“Great, that! Show us the chords then” John said, taking his glasses out of his pocket as if to see George clearer. Paul mirrored John, pulling his bass back onto his knee and starting to pick out the route notes as George formed the chords. They followed George’s instruction closely before playing through the song a few times, laughing away wrong notes and mumbled lyrics.

“Don’t know about you two, but I need another drink!” John declared as the last notes faded in the small front room. Paul quickly leant his bass against the sofa and jumped up, grabbing a notepad off the small coffee table and thrusting it at George.

“George, why don’t you write out the lyrics and chords while I help John? Maybe one copy for me, one for him, then we can learn it for the next gig, yeah?” Paul’s voice sounded distracted, his eyes already wandering from his outstretched hand to the door John had just walked out of.

“Sure” George grumbled, feeling peeved that he was being left to do the boring work. At least he was getting a cuppa out of it – and maybe a lead at their next gig too. He supposed he should be grateful they were even willing to learn it.

George set about writing the song out, deciding to list the chords and leave the lyrics – they could figure the rest out themselves. He was the one singing it anyway. He ripped the pieces of paper out and left them lying on the table, stretching out his stiff frame before moving to join his friends in the kitchen.

As he wandered down the hall he was surprised at the quiet in the house – no laughs, no shouts – no even the inevitable argument over mugs or teabags or whatever other unimportant crap John and Paul always bickered over. It was then that George heard soft voices, barely audible over the boiling kettle.

“I just haven’t had the chance yet John, you know what it’s like with Mike and me dad.”

“Yeah, I know what it’s like. I knew it’d be like this once we got back, I told you-”

“And I told you, it won’t. Just give me a chance, it’s only been a few days.”

A silence lapsed over the kitchen again, but George stayed stock still. Somehow it felt like he was intruding now, although he didn’t know why. He pushed away the odd thought and stepped round the corner into the kitchen.

“Taking your time with these drinks, aren’t you lads?”

George suddenly felt two sets of eyes glaring at him before their gazes softened. John snorted and pushed past George back into the living room, leaving Paul and George alone in the kitchen.

“Just waiting for the kettle” Paul said, gesturing vaguely towards the hob. The enthusiasm and urgency from earlier had gone, but there was an air of frustration about him as he picked up the whistling kettle and filled the mugs.

_Must have had an argument with John_ George though. _Wouldn’t be the first time_. George smiled to himself, suddenly glad he hadn’t had to deal with a week of John and Paul’s moods, Paris or not. He walked over and grabbed one of the cups of tea, patting Paul affectionately on the back and heading back into the living room to join John.

“For you, mate”. John grunted thanks and snatched the mug off the table as soon as George had let go of it, holding the hot drink in both hands.

“Where’s yours?”

“I’ll have one of the ones Paul’s bringing in.” George stood over John for a moment longer before moving to sit down, wondering what exactly had happened to cause John’s mood swing. He slumped back into his chair and watched Paul enter the room, leaving both drinks on the table and falling down onto the sofa next to John.

“Watch it will you? Almost spilled me drink all over m’self then”

“Sorry” Paul grumbled, pulling his bass back onto his knee and plucking at the strings. George looked on at the odd scene – John and Paul were angled away from each other, Paul hunched over his bass and John still grasping the cup of tea, staring blankly into the middle distance. He waited a moment, taking in the silence before he felt the need to say something to break the tension.

“Let’s get back to playing, yeah? Run through the routine, all the way through.”

Paul coughed and shifted on the sofa, sitting up straight and looking over at George with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Yeah, good idea.”

They began playing again and suddenly music filled the space and there was no room for tension. The three of them knew the songs inside out – they must have played them all hundreds, maybe thousands of times, speeding through them, stretching them out as long as they could, trading joke lyrics and wrong chords live on stage just because they can – and playing through them again, in the small living room in Allerton, was just like slipping on a favourite jumper – comfort and familiarity rushed over George like the warmth from a hot bath. When they were done, the awkwardness seemed to be gone and a companionable silence fell over the three of them.

“That was great, didn’t realise how much I’d missed playing together” Paul said, smiling at John and George. “Fancy something to eat? I’m sure there’s something around here.”

“Can’t” said John, “promised Mimi I’d be back before she went to bed – said she had something to talk to me about and I don’t fancy her waking me up at the crack of dawn tomorrow for it.”

“Yeah, I’d best be off too, grab a bus before it gets too late.”

“Not like you to care what Mimi thinks, John” Paul laughed.

“I’m already in enough shit with Mimi as it is – she didn’t take kindly to me swanning off to Paris with the only decent bit of money I’ve had in years – think she was hoping I’d spend it on art supplies or clothes instead of wasting it on you, Macca.” George noticed John wink and Paul roll his eyes in return. “Well, I’m off then.” John slapped his legs and pushed himself up off the sofa, packing his guitar into his case and swinging it against his back. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

George suspected this comment was aimed at Paul, but he nodded all the same. “I’ll be going too” he said as he grabbed his own guitar and followed John out the door. “See you Paul!”

“See you George.” Paul said, watching them leave down the hall before he closed the door behind them.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! Find me at apple-scruffed.tumblr.com if you have any questions or just want to talk =)
> 
> Not sure how many chapters this will be but I've got an idea of where I want it to go


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